sunrise, sunset
by withnorthernlights
Summary: [enolive/movieverse] His eyes close, and he holds in a laugh too. He may hate mornings, but he loves her.


**A/N: I've been on a bit of a hiatus with school and whatnot, but thanks for sticking with me so far. I'll try to write when I can.. no consistent updates, though.**

•

She's always liked mornings.

Light begins to streak across the sky, just faintly, and the sun embarks on its steady path, slowly brightening the world. Maybe it's the fire, the burning flame inside of her that pulls her towards the sun and its own fire, that wakes her up at the crack of dawn when the biggest star in the sky starts to rise, tinting the clouds pink and orange and white.

 _(Like calls to like, doesn't it?)_

There's a different kind of feeling in the air in the morning that you just can't find anywhere else. Almost no one is awake yet, and she's alone with her thoughts and the calming silence. When everything is _still_ and soft, when she has time to be alone, without the noises of chores and younger children - that's when she can finally relax.

Sunrise is her favorite time of day.

Olive shifts slightly closer to him, breathing in the warmth, the scent, the pure feeling of his being. She brushes her lips against his skin, smiling against his cheek and his jaw, leaving a delicate trail of kisses. His eyes blink open.

"What."

Not a question, merely a statement. His voice is groggy from the impact of the morning, his tone irritable from being waken up so early, but he knows she did it just to hear him speak. It's enough of a reason - for now. She'll owe him later.

Her lips slide upwards, and her eyelashes flutter gently. "Nothing," she murmurs, curling her body against his. "Can't I kiss you?"

Already she's restless, although the sun has barely come out. Enoch groans, turning over, trying to reach further for sleep that will not, cannot come. It's only this early that he sees a different side of Olive where she's more forward, more sly. Again, her lips move against his, and he gives in, blinking awake.

"'Morning." The word comes out in a sigh, slipping from his mouth almost as a mistake. With another heavy groan, he sits up to face her, running a hand through his dark, messy hair. "Why do you have to do this to me?" he mumbles, pleading, reluctant. But even as he says it, he moves towards her, wrapping his arms around her body.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," she says with a laugh, lips pressing slightly into a pout. His eyes close and he holds in a laugh too. He may hate mornings, but he loves her.

•

He's always liked nights.

There's something that relates death to darkness, to the mournful loneliness of the inky sky, the moon, the stars. And it's especially the timeless nights of their loop that bring him most joy, an obscene pleasure he feels from watching the explosions rocket above him. True, if it weren't for Miss Peregrine, those bombs would have rendered them dead a thousand nights ago.

But then again, death is where he's most comfortable.

Sunset is his favorite time of day.

He does love Olive; he loves every part of her, but the flame that looks so beautiful cupped in her palms is blinding in the air, in the sun. When the damned thing finally sets, he feels more _alive_ (that's against the way most peculiars - most _humans_ \- work, considering their circadian rhythms, but he's been told he's more in tune with the dead).

Olive doesn't like the dark, even though he tries to point out to her the fireflies. "No," she always says, shaking her bright hair, brighter than the brightest stars.

These small pinpoints of light aren't enough for her; she craves the safety of light, and for years she had slept with a nightlight in her room for fear of what she couldn't see.

Enoch sighs, but just as he's about to step inside the house, Olive reaches out her hand, grabbing his wrist and stopping him. "Don't–" she begins, clearly struggling. "Don't go," she says, finally.

He raises his eyebrows, staring skeptically at her. "You don't like it out here," he explains gently, exasperation clear in his voice, as if he's speaking to a child. "I don't want to make you come out if you don't want to."

Olive presses her lips together. True, she hates the darkness, hates the night, and if it were possible, she'd go to bed at sunset every day to sleep through the shadows until morning came again. Still, it doesn't get past her that Enoch - her compassionate, loving Enoch - wakes up each day at the break of dawn just to keep her company. They don't do much in those early hours, just lay and kiss as she cuddles her body closer to his, lost in her own mind.

"You do so much for me," she says softly. "The least I could do is this, after all you've given me."

A frown settles on his face, and stubbornly, he repeats, "You don't like it out here."

"You don't like it when I kiss you awake that early in the morning but you still get up for me. Enoch..." She hesitates, before continuing, "Let me give back to you. You do so much to make me happy - let me return that."

Darkness streaks further and further across the sky, the trees casting shadows against the gardens. Enoch gives in, allowing himself a faint smile. "Alright," he murmurs, pressing his lips gently against her cheek. It's such a private, intimate gesture that Olive can't help but break into smile as well. "Tell me when you want to go inside, okay?"

She nods, and takes his hand, guiding him away from the door to the house. They just sit on a bench next to one of the trees, her leaning against him, and this time it's Enoch who loses himself in thought. A cricket sounds, the only disturbance to the serene silence.

"Thank you," he says after awhile. He thought she'd fallen asleep, but she just shifts slightly, squeezing his hand.

"Anything for you, Enoch."

At that moment, he can feel his heart blazing as brightly as the sun that he so hates. His head comes down to rest on hers, and he relaxes fully, just enjoying her and the darkness.


End file.
